Blue Glass: A Manfred von Richthofen Fanfic
by shadow.rogue34
Summary: He flies a blood red triplane in the skies above the trenches, admired by his countrymen and respected by his adversaries She is a buyer for a wine firm, with a past laced with deceit, lies, and substance abuse, a small fish in the large pond that is Vienna, Austria.
1. Prologue

Its blue glass eyes stare sightlessly into space, yet they have witnessed so much, so many things they are unable to tell.

The translucent blue figurine of a dog stands eternally at attention in its glass display case, proud, erect, just the way it stood so many years ago. It meets the stares of those whose eyes travel over its smooth body, over the ripples in the glass that indicate where sinewy muscle is flexed. Its stare is unflinching, unwavering, yet utterly devoid of life. Its eyes now and then are no different, and still it remembers...

" _What shall we name him?" the blond soldier's arms encircle her waist, drawing the raven haired girl to his chest. "A good dog needs a name."_

 _"I want to name him Moritz," she says, looking tenderly upon the glass figurine like it's her most prized possession. "After your dog in the field."_

 _He gives her a knowing look, almost like he knew she would say something like that._

 _"Moritz it is, then."_

 _The dog watches from its obedient perch on the oaken surface as she turns in his arms, her hands going to the back of his neck. He places his hands on her waist and raises her off her feet ever so slightly into the air to match his height. They kiss each other fervently, almost like it's the last time they will ever do so..._


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I was tired.

Well,not just tired—exhausted was a more apt way to describe the weighty lethargy settling itself on my limbs. I no longer heard the clatter of the train's wheels on the metal tracks, no longer cared how many times the train stopped due to customary wartime security checks. I kept my ticket, now damp with moisture from being cocooned in my fist for the duration of the train ride, on the armrest of my chair to avoid being unceremoniously woken up by the portly ticket checker every now and then.

Beneath the tiredness, however, I was surprised to find a hint of joy. I had just come back from my most successful series of transactions yet, having bartered and haggled with some of the most prestigious wine companies in Switzerland. I had yielded Sonnemann and Co. a hefty sum, something I was sure to be commended for by my superiors. I was already held in high regard at the firm for being the youngest—and most successful—buyer they had, and this would only bolster my credibility in their eyes.

I could feel the train slowing down and sat slowly upright, my muscles shrieking in protest. The familiar train station of Vienna only reminded me of the arduous walk I had ahead of me to get to my house.

Even from where I was sitting, I could see Svetlana's ice blonde head at the forefront of the people waiting near the platform. I heaved my suitcase down from the luggage rack and merged into the sea of people now streaming from the train's doors.

"You don't look well," was the first thing out of Svetlana's mouth when I reached her.

"I imagine so," I replied, leaning heavily on her proffered arm. Then, before she could say anything else,"But wouldn't you prefer to continue this conversation at home?"

The streets of Vienna were mercifully empty. The war had turned the city to a virtual city of women, children, and elderly—most of the men had already been drafted.

"Mail from Heinrich arrived this morning," Svetlana said as we walked.

"Did you read it?"

"Heavens no. He's your cousin, not mine."

"Well, that's one thing to look forward to. How's mother? Drunk as ever, I suppose."

Svetlana sighed. "They took her to the hospital recently. An overdose on cocaine, I think it was."

I sighed. "More medical bills to pay, then?"

"Too many. You know, this would have never happened if your father would just be a man and—"

She cut her sentence short at the warning gaze I flashed her. My father was a sensitive topic for a good reason—even for my housekeeper. He had abandoned my mother and I after he met a woman on a business trip in Pomerania, and their affair had gone from platonic love letters to a physical affair faster than was possible, with secret rendezvouses taking place between the two both in Vienna and Pomerania. Eventually, it became too much for them to hide their "love" and they eloped. My father never told my mother why he was leaving or when he was coming back—she learned the true state of matters from a lady she once went to school with who lived in Pomerania with her husband. My mother had spiraled into a depression she had yet to come out of, suppressing all her anger and heartbreak with drugs and alcohol, abuses of which usually landed her in the hospital. I didn't have a problem with her detrimental habits—to each their own way—if it weren't for the fact that all her medical expenses came from my salary. That barely left anything for the cost of living, which continued to steadily rise as the war continued to drag on and on.

Svetlana and I passed a news kiosk with bold headlines screaming the latest changes, for better or for worse, in on the separate fronts of this war. As of now, the papers were mostly about Austrian and German aces that were distinguishing themselves in the skies above the bloodbaths in the trenches below.

We Austrians happily lauded our most successful fighter pilot yet, Godwin von Brumowski, while the Germans took pride in their ace of aces, Manfred von Richthofen.

Svetlana, being the zealot that she was, dutifully collected the pictures of Von Brumowski the government distributed, as well as ones of Von Richthofen whenever she accompanied me to Germany on one of my many business trips. I had looked through the pictures, square pieces of glossy paper known in Germany as Sanke cards, and noted with involuntary disdain that while Von Richthofen looked every bit a warrior, Von Brumowski looked more like he belonged on a pulpit or behind a schoolmaster's desk than in the cockpit of an Albatros.

Svetlana held the door to my house open for me. I ducked beneath her arm to enter and was greeted with the sickening stench of cleaning chemicals. I looked over my shoulder at her; she gave me an apologetic glance.

"I didn't want the first thing you smelled to be cigarette smoke."

I wrinkled my nose. "Your efforts are appreciated. You said there was a letter from Heinrich?"

"On the table." She heaved my suitcase off the floor and disappeared up the stairs.

I watched her go before sinking down onto the nearest upholstered chair, voraciously tearing through the worn envelope and unfurling the neatly folded paper inside. My cousin had, to my surprise, managed to retain his obsession with fastidiousness and cleanliness despite having to contend with surroundings that were the polar opposite.

 _Dear cousin,_

 _I regret I wasn't able to stop by Vienna during my last leave and see you. I heard about what happened with Auntie lately from my father and I ought to have shouldered the burden with you. Nevertheless, I had a good excuse to be away at the time. I've been seconded to the German Air Service with Father and a few of his officers friends. I currently fly with Jasta 11, and me and some of my squadron members obtained leaves for ourselves not too long ago. Father is planning to host a grand party at his hunting lodge in East Prussia commemorating our move to the Luftstreitkrafte. He's hoping very much for you to be there, but as always, if you can't come, there won't be a problem_.

I sat back into the chair and tipped my head back, staring up at the ceiling. I hadn't been to East Prussia in a long time, and the notion of a party sounded enticing compared to a dull few days' vigil by my mother's hospital bedside.

Suppressing the urge to yawn, I stood and went up the stairs to find Svetlana. She was in my room hanging the things in my suitcase up, and turned at the sound of my feet on the stairs.

"How is Heinrich?"she asked.

"He's going on leave," I said briskly, taking the blouse she had in her hands and proceeding to hang it up myself. "My uncle is throwing a party at one of his hunting lodges in East Prussia, and he wants me to come."

"Where in East Prussia?"

"He didn't specify. I can expect a telegram from him anytime soon, however."

I finished hanging the rest of my clothes. Svetlana heaved a sigh and got on her knees before my open suitcase.

"You aren't going to pack for East Prussia?"

I shook my head. "I won't need to. It's not that far, nor am I staying too long."

Or so I thought.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

My cousin pulled the double doors to the hunting lodge open and let out a loud, unceremonious whoop when he saw me. He had stuffed his overweight self into a basic gray service uniform, clearly borrowed from a friend as the material hugged his midsection most unattractively, the gold buttons straining like they were going to pop off at any second. The smell of cigarette smoke, womens' perfume and mens' cologne—the smell of upperclass parties—hit me full in the face from behind him.

"It's good to see you, too, Heinrich," I said, kissing him on both cheeks, a gesture which never failed to make him turn red. "How's your father?"

"Not worse for the wear, I suppose." He ushered me in and gave me his arm, which I took. "How's your mother?"

"I haven't seen her since I came from Switzerland," I said, hastily checking my reflection in the mirror in the small hallway leading to the drawing room to see if my makeup had smudged in any way—which I hoped it didn't, as I had nothing on hand with which to fix it. Svetlana had done my makeup in such a way that I looked classy without looking ostentatious or artificial. All I had on was face powder, my eyes were lined, and my lips and cheeks were slightly rouged.

Satisfied that everything was in place, I turned to Heinrich and we walked into the drawing room together. One look at the women milling about the room and I began to feel I was horribly overdressed. These women had dresses with half sleeves, the bared sections of their arms piled high with bracelets that caught the light of the chandelier above, and wore their hair either in intricate designs or wore hats. Svetlana had piled my dark curly hair atop my head in a topknot, and squeezed me into a full sleeve burgundy dress with a scandalously low neckline.

"Your father really went all out, didn't he," I commented.

"Being seconded to the German Army is a big thing to him," Heinrich explained. "Especially now, when Austria's army is so turbulent compared to theirs."

Heinrich walked over to the table he had ostensibly been sitting at and poured each of us a bubbling glass of champagne.

"To the war," he said, raising his glass.

"To the war." We were about to tap glasses and down the contents when a loud ahem nearby made the two of us look up.

My uncle looked at his son with a dour expression. "Why would you propose a toast to this war, boy? Have you no conscience?"

Heinrich dropped his gaze to the toes of his boots. "I'm sorry, father."

My uncle heaved a sigh. "See to it that you act accordingly. Get lost; do something productive." At his words, Heinrich threw me an apologetic glance and darted off with this glass of champagne. "You've had enough fun for one night," my uncle called after Heinrich's receding back.

"A pleasure to see you, uncle," I said tactfully. "You're looking well; the war certainly has been kind to you."

"My girl, we all have our fair share of woes from this conflict." He returned my handshake and pulled me towards him to kiss my cheeks. "How have you been?"

"I'm well enough. Mother is in the hospital again."

Major Reinhard Schwarz's eyes darkened. "Yet another result of my brother's...philandering?"

"So it seems," I said sourly. "I was in Switzerland when Mother overdosed; Svetlana told me."

My uncle clapped a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "What's important, my dear, is that you have a good time while you can. Life is short; you can't afford to waste it worrying and fretting over every little thing." He poured himself a glass of champagne and tapped it to mine. "To the momentous occasion of my seconding to the German Air Service."

I smiled and clinked glasses with him. My uncle never failed to lift my spirits, even if it was only temporary.

"While we're on the topic of momentous occasions, there are a few honored guests I'd like you to meet." He gave me his arm. "I trust your interest in aviation hasn't waned yet?"

I smirked. "Not yet."

Even during peacetime, I had always been fascinated by the zeppelins and occasional airplanes that flew over Vienna. Although I knew that it was unheard of for a woman to fly an airplane, I compensated by learning almost everything there was to know about them. I knew all the names of the airplane companies in Germany and in Austria, knew how they worked and what to do if, say, a motor malfunctioned—the whole nine yards.

We walked along, my uncle rambling about something he had had to do during his first day at Jasta 11, me lost in thought, until we stopped at a round table almost in the shadows of the room, around which my cousin and a blond man in a field gray service uniform were sitting.

"I trust the wine was to your liking?" My uncle yanked a chair out and gestured for me to sit on it.

"It was exquisite." The sarcasm in my cousin's voice was all too obvious.

"Your hosting never fails to impress, Reinhard." Heinrich's table companion gave me but a fleeting glance, his eyes focused on my uncle.

"May I introduce my niece," was the next thing out of my uncle's mouth, "Lea Schwarz."

Now he was looking straight at me, his lips pulling in a tiny smile.

"A pleasure," he said slowly. I couldn't place his slight accent exactly—he didn't sound Austrian, that I knew for sure.

Heinrich leaned forward ever so slightly, like he was about to divulge a huge secret. "My cousin wants to fly planes when she gets older."

"Heinrich!" I could feel my cheeks turning red as a blast of heat shot up my face.

Heinrich's table companion didn't seem fazed in the least. His smile widened a tiny bit more, but other than that it was as if he hadn't heard a word.

"How much do you know about aviation?"he asked me finally.

I turned to look at him. "A lot."

His voice felt like it was crawling beneath the fabric covering my body to caress my skin; to worm its way down my spine. It wasn't too deep to be severe or too high pitched to be effeminate; it rose and fell between the two.

"Who is Austria's highest scoring ace thus far?"

"Godwin von Brumowski." That was easy.

"Do you know Germany's?"

"Manfred von Richthofen."

Heinrich made a sound like he was stifling a laugh, and my questioner shot him a look.

"Very good," he said to me. "How many victories does Manfred von Richthofen have so far?"

I blinked at him. "You should incline your questions a bit toward Austria and not Germany. I'm more likely to know things about my own country than about the country we're allied with."

I hadn't meant to sound impudent or brash, but judging by the wince that crossed Heinrich's face, I had chosen the wrong words.

He, however, didn't bat an eyelash. "The same goes for us Germans."

I realized he had just turned my words against me.

Is he sparring with me?

I raised my head all the way to look at him. Big mistake.

He was boyishly handsome—there was no doubt about that. He had the squared off face of a German country squire with a jawline that looked like it had been sculpted by Michelangelo's chisel. His eyes were the bluest I'd ever seen, framed with dark lashes, his blonde eyebrows thick yet ending in the arch that girls find so attractive in men. His lips were full, like Heinrich's, although unlike Heinrich's bee stung ones, his were carefully drawn, with a prominent Cupid's bow. I was stunned—I rarely saw fine specimens like him in Vienna, and if by chance I were to zero in on one, I would be met with the disheartening news that he was either homosexual or had a serious girlfriend. Still, looking past his good looks, he looked familiar, almost like I had seen him before.

"I see you're wearing the uniform that German Uhlans wear," I said, trying to change the subject as fluidly as I could. "Isn't the cavalry obsolete these days?"

"Yes. Cavalry charges are only for newsreels now. I'm a fighter pilot."

"How many victories do you have so far?" I asked.

"41."

My jaw twitched. He had a higher number than our ace, von Brumowski. But that meant...

I studied his face once more, and it all fell into place. No wonder he looked familiar—I had seen that face so many times on Sanke cards Svetlana collected and taped to the wall of her room...

"Manfred von Richthofen," I said. "That's you, isn't it."

This time, his lips split so that his teeth showed when he smiled.

"Your assumption is correct."

I looked to my left, expecting to see Heinrich there, but finding only an empty chair. My heart sank. Here I was, alone at a table in the shadows with Germany's highest scoring ace and no one to back me up or prevent me from looking like a fool.

"My housekeeper adores you," I said in a feeble attempt to keep the conversation going. "She has so many Sanke cards with your face on them that I could use them as wallpaper for her room."

At that, he actually laughed. "Does she?"

I nodded emphatically. "Her name's Svetlana. She's a Russian from Petrograd."

Manfred von Richthofen smiled. "Very nice. And you? Do you collect Sanke cards as well?"

"I'm too busy for that," I said, trying to sound as flippant as possible. I knew women all over their home country literally threw themselves at these men's' knees in futile attempts to win their hearts. Despite the fact that I inwardly admitted Manfred had a lot more going for him than just his status as national hero, I wasn't going to let him see that.

"I work as a buyer for a wine importing firm, you see, so I'm constantly traveling Europe looking for new clients."

"Ah. I see. That must be refreshing for you. How does your father take it?"

"My father doesn't live with us anymore," I said nonchalantly. "He lives in Pomerania, and we don't have any business there."

"And your mother?"

"She's in the hospital."

"What for, may I ask?"

"She...um...she has heart problems." The last thing I needed Germany's top ace to know was that my mother abused drugs.

"My apologies. It must be so hard for you."

We were silent for a moment. I noticed with surprise that he didn't have a drink before him.

A German that doesn't drink?

"Well, then, I ought to go," I finally said, slowly rising to my feet. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Herr Richthofen."

He shook his head ever so slightly. "Please. Call me Manfred. And it was nice to talk to you...?"

"Just call me Lea." I had never been called Fraulein Schwarz my whole life, and had no intention for anyone to be the first.

We shook hands for the second time that night. I couldn't help mentally noting that his hands were uncharacteristically soft for a soldier, and dwarfed mine considerably.

"Guten abend," he said in that slight accent of his again.

He was gone before I could leave first or say anything else, leaving me alone at the table in the shadows.


	4. Chapter 3

I forgot all about Manfred von Richthofen until after I came home from visiting my mother in the hospital.

Svetlana had driven me over to see her, and to put it frankly, it hadn't been pretty. Klothilde Schwarz wasn't the nicest person on the block, even when she was in a hospital bed recovering from a near fatal cocaine overdose. Svetlana always used to say that she was glad I only took after her in looks, but I got my personality from my father. That wasn't a good thing, in my opinion, but it was much better than my mother.

"How are you feeling, Mama?" I asked as I approached the bag of skin and bones lying amid snow white sheets on the metal-frame hospital bed.

She turned to look at me—well, not turned,more like slid her narrowed eyes to one side to look at me warily.

"Are you still able to pay the bills?"she asked in her gravelly smoker's voice, completely ignoring my question.

I snorted. That's all you care about, huh.

"Thankfully, yes," I said coolly. "But why are they keeping you here for so long?"

"Beats me." My mother scowled at me as she reached for the grainy glass of water on her bedside table. "They told me I would have died had the Russian not found me."

I bristled. "Her name's Svetlana, Mama, and if that's the case then she saved your life. You should at least show respect towards her if gratitude is nonexistent in your heart."

"Watch your tongue, girl." She threw me a spiteful glare, noisily sipping her water. "You're just like your father, always asserting your unwanted opinions."

If I was like my father you would be in the street whoring yourself out to random men for a pittance, I thought to myself.

"Heinrich and Uncle Reinhard send their regards," I said after a palpable silence. "I was at a party of theirs in East Prussia a few days ago."

"Hmph. That bastard Reinhard has done nothing to help me like he said he would. Sitting on his ass in Germany married to that woman and rearing that overweight son of a bitch he calls—"

"Enough!" I had raised my voice enough for it to bounce off the whitewashed walls.

My mother gaped at me, half in shock, half in defiance as I stood, my hands balled into fists at my sides.

"You can talk trash about me and Father and Svetlana, but Heinrich and his father have been nothing but nice to us ever since Father left. No wonder your life is in tatters—you're too bitter to appreciate the kindnesses you don't deserve that people have done for you." I picked my handbag up off the floor and started for the door.

"Rot in hell, you insolent wench," I heard her mutter from where she lay.

I wanted to fire back with a scathing string of curses that would shock even the most seasoned sailor into silence. I could even imagine myself sucker punching her in her gaunt, hollow cheeked face, envisioning the bones giving way beneath my fist.

Instead, I swallowed my pride and shut the door behind me.

"Do you know an 'M.v. Richthofen'?" Svetlana asked the moment I walked in the door.

The name came as a surprise to me. "Richthofen...?"

"Yes, you have a letter from him...or her." The look she gave me told me she expected me to tell her.

"Let me read the letter and I'll tell you everything," I promised her, taking the crisp white envelope she handed me and taking the stairs by twos to my room.

I vaguely remembered the conversation I had had with Manfred Von Richthofen, Germany's highest scoring ace. I never imagined, however, that he would bother getting my address. From whom, I had no way of knowing, but I honestly didn't mind.

I carefully slit the envelope and unfurled a piece of paper, neatly folded into a rectangle.

(After many crossed out starts) Lea,

Your uncle gave me your address; that's how I know it. (Series Of crossed out words) I feel like our conversation at your uncle's party was too short for my liking.

If you should know, Heinrich is going back to the Front with me tomorrow; he sends his regards.

I would advise you, if you do reply to this, that you send it to "Rittm. Von Richthofen, Western Front;" I'll be more likely to see it then.

Manfred

He sounded so sincere it just about melted my heart.

I read the letter over about five times before going to my bedside table and taking out a single sheet of paper and a fountain pen from the drawer.

Manfred,

Many thanks for the letter. To tell you the truth, I too wish we had gotten properly acquainted with each other at my uncle's party. I hope you continue to be successful in everything you do for your country in these times.

Lea S.

It was short, succinct, and to the point, and smacked of nothing but cordiality—all things I wanted my first letter to Manfred von Richthofen to be imbued with. I carefully folded the paper into a square and tucked it into an envelope at the back of my drawer. Sealing the envelope, I turned it over and carefully addressed it as Manfred had dictated in his letter: Rittm. Von Richthofen, Western Front.

"So who is this Richthofen?" Svetlana asked, breezing into the room with a basket of clean laundry. "Is it a man or a woman? What did they want with you?"

"It wasn't for me." The words tumbled out of my mouth faster than I thought they would. "I returned it to the sender."

Later on, as I walked to the imposing building of Sonnemann and Co., I wondered why on earth I had lied to Svetlana over such a trivial matter. I didn't even know Manfred; there was no reason for me to be hiding anything from her.

Then why did I feel the urge to keep it a secret?

I flashed the guard at the gate a small smile in response to his lazy wave as I took the stairs to the double doors by twos.

My colleagues, Amalie and Luise, were loitering in the spacious hallway when I walked in; they both looked up when I entered.

"Guten Morgen, Lea," Amalie said. Luise, morose and brooding as ever, grunted in acknowledgment.

"Good morning." I looked around, expecting our taciturn supervisor, Helmuth Weber, to emerge from his office at any moment and chide us for not being productive.

"He's not here yet," Luise said, as if she had read my mind. "We're just waiting here for him."

I shrugged. "Is there coffee?"

"Ersatz coffee, yes." Amalie pointed down the hallway. "Help yourself."

I thanked the two of them and started down the hall at a brisk walk.

Even as I filled my ceramic mug with the bitter brown liquid, my thoughts continued to wander back to the blond Uhlan with the piercing blue eyes.

I wondered if he thought my letter was too short to be considered a decent conversation continuer. What if it hadn't reached him? What if he had forgotten he even asked for my address? Despite the fact that we had barely spoken to each other, the thought that he no longer found me interesting to talk to rankled me.

I took a sip of the bitter liquid and winced out of habit. We Austrians had been drinking ersatz coffee for far too long to care about the taste—and so had the Germans we were allied with, I supposed. The war was depleting us fast, literally forcing us to go to extremes to keep fighting, especially those on the home front, such as civilians like us.

"Schwarz!" A deep voice rumbled from behind me. "It takes that long to drink a cup of coffee?"

I jumped and turned around, dregs of dark liquids sloshing over the edge of the cup and onto the pristine white tabletop as I moved.

Helmuth Weber looked every bit the enigma in his black daytime suit and polished black dress shoes. He looked his hooked nose down at me from his wire rimmed spectacles.

"I'm sorry—" I began, but he held up a hand, effectively silencing me.

"Get to work. We're planning another out of the country tenure and if we're to get everything arranged in time the paperwork needs to be sent out immediately."

"Yes sir," I said as I headed past him to the small door on the left that led to my otherwise dismal workspace. Unlike Amalie or Luise, I didn't have pictures of my family—or, in Luise's case, my children—up on the walls or on the desk, just a plaque with a wilting lily engraved onto it that was supposed to be "aesthetically pleasing" according to the peddler that sold me it.

My tongue sore from the scalding sip of ersatz coffee I had taken, I sat down and, fountain pen in hand, hunched over the first set of papers on my desk.


	5. Chapter 4

There's a big phone in our house; our only phone. It's been silent ever since my father left, as my mother had managed to alienate pretty much the entire block with her sour attitude. The few friends I do have prefer to meet face to face, hence the unnerving silence of this telephone.

Until today.

It was a normal Sunday in our house. I was sitting on the sofa in the living room reading a romance novel, observing Svetlana over the top of my book as she primped for church. If my mother had been here, she would be out on the patio chain smoking, but she was in the hospital, hence the relieving absence of the acrid odor of cigarette smoke.

"You're not going today, Lea?" Svetlana asked me over her shoulder.

I snorted. "To church? Gag me with a spoon."

"You used to love going to church," she said, turning to face me.

"Not anymore, Svetlana," I said. "I stopped believing in that shit a long time ago."

At that, she visibly bristled. "What did I say about convincing yourself you're atheist?"

"I'm not convincing anyone; there's no need to convince anyone."

"All these veiled denunciations of our faith will lead to your—"

"There is no veil." I slammed the book down irascibly, jumping to my feet. "If there was such thing as God, I would have my mother, and I would have my father."

"God puts our faith to the test in so many—"

"Bullshit."

"You ought to be grateful for what you do have, a roof over your head, a stable job, and —"

Her sentence was interrupted by a loud, ear splitting shriek of the phone's chime.

We both stopped and stared at each other, our feud going up in smoke. No one—I repeat, no one had called that phone in five years.

"What should I do?" I asked in a hushed whisper as the phone continued to ring.

"Maybe it's from the hospital," Svetlana said in an equally low voice. "Answer it."

My hands shook as I lifted the phone from its stand and raised it to my ear.

"Schwarz." I immediately kicked myself for sounding so small.

"Is this my cousin? Or Svetlana?"

My eyes bulged; I could hardly believe it. "Heinrich?!"

"Oh, so this is the right number," my cousin warbled, taking no notice of my reaction. "Thank you so much; schön tag."

The line went dead. I gaped at Svetlana, who wore an equally befuddled look on her face even though she hadn't heard the other person on the line speak.

"What did Heinrich want?"she asked.

"I don't know," I said. "But—"

The phone began to ring again; the two of us jumped simultaneously, staring at the object like it was a ticking time bomb.

If Heinrich wants to use his free time to prank call me, I—

"Fick dich, what's wrong with you?" I snapped into the receiver as soon as I picked it up.

"Excuse me?"

My heart leaped into my throat. The voice coming through the receiver was not that of my cousin's.

"Who is this?" I squeaked.

I heard the person laugh to themselves on the other end. Then:

"Manfred von Richthofen."

My blood turned to ice. My heart in my throat, I waved Svetlana out of the room and took a deep breath.

"How do you do, Manfred?"

"As well as one can do out here." I heard a low shuffling sound in the background. "And you?"

"I'm doing fine," I said, willing my voice not to shake. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I honestly regret that our conversation didn't last longer at Major Reinhard's party," was the reply.

"And here we are." I forced my shoulders to relax, trying my best to contain the embarrassed laugh bubbling in my throat.

"You have an awfully filthy mouth for a girl," was the next thing out of his mouth.

A blast of heat shot up my face. "That was a mistake; I thought you were my cousin."

"You didn't strike me as the cursing type when you wrote to me."

I could feel my mouth stretching into an even wider smile. I was glad he couldn't see my face; I looked like a deranged clown.

I'm flattered...my letters were that well written?

"Oh, I didn't?" I asked. "Is that a compliment?"

"Jawohl." Manfred cleared his throat on the other end.

"How...did you manage to place a phone call and have it go through from so far away?" I sank into the upholstered chair next to the phone table, picking up the clay paperweight next to the phone stand and curling my fingers around it in a fist.

"Well, you should congratulate me first; I've earned it." I could hear the pride in Manfred's voice as he spoke.

"You scored a new victory?" I asked.

"I did. Number 42."

"Congratulations. Was he...did you kill him?"

"Of course I did. His plane broke into pieces in midair; there's no way anyone can survive that."

I wanted to object to the nonchalant way he spoke about killing another man, but decided against it as I didn't want to risk being branded as a traitor or a collaborator. Not only that, but it would take the conversation down an awkward turn, and that was something I didn't want to risk.

"Nicely done," I said tightly. "That sounds exhilarating."

"I'm glad you—ugh." The shuffling in the background increased. "I'm glad you think so."

"Well, I hope you don't mind if I invasively interview you," I said, sensing the conversation was about to get awkward. "After all, it isn't every day commoners like me get to speak on the telephone to war heroes."

"Ach, it's nothing. Ask away; I've nothing to do now."

"So when someone asks you to talk about yourself, what do you normally say?"

I heard him inhale sharply. "Well, I was born in Breslau, I was—"

"Breslau?"

"It's a city in Silesia," Manfred said. "Silesia is in Prussia, oder?" I asked.

"Yes. We moved to Schweidnitz when I was younger, and I was sent to cadet school when I was eleven."

"What does your coat of arms look like? I'm assuming you have one since you have a 'von' in your last name."

"How observant of you. I'll draw it for you sometime and mail it with my next letter."

"Thank you." The fact that he would actually go to such a length to give me information was...somewhat touching to say the least.

"Is that all you had to ask me?" Manfred's voice now had a teasing edge to it, almost like he was about to laugh.

"No, I—" I could feel my tongue tripping over words as they formed in my mouth, bubbles rising to the surface but popping as soon as they reached it.

I could literally hear the mirth in his voice when he said, "It's only fair that you let me ask you questions in return."

My heart leapt in my throat. Lying to him had been so easy at my uncle's party since I had had no qualms about lying to a stranger, and even easier on paper but here, over the phone, fifteen letters and three weeks from our first meeting at the party, I was surprised to feel a twang of guilt at the thought of weaving yet another web of lies.

"Yes, you're right," I conceded. "A-ask away."

"Or would you rather not subject yourself to the scrutiny of commoners?"he asked.

There it was again, the same tone he had used to tactfully spar with me at my uncle's party, albeit verbally and as underhandedly as one could do so.

"Of course not," I said. "What do you want to know?"

"The same questions you asked me," Manfred said. "Answer them."

I exhaled sharply, glad I hadn't bothered to ask him anything difficult or overly invasive.

"Well, we don't have a coat of arms," I said. "And I was born and raised in Vienna."

"I see," was all he said.

"Write to me later, Manfred." I was growing more and more unnerved by the second.

"Of course. Schön tag, Lea."

His line clicked off first as he hung up before I could even reply.


	6. Chapter 5

"It's good to have you back, Mama." I hoped my voice didn't give away the resentment bubbling in my chest.

My mother gave me but a cursory glance as she limped for the stairs, Svetlana dutifully following her. I watched them go before literally flying out of the house to the mailbox.

Sure enough, the metal flag was lowered. I pulled the small door open and pulled out a sheaf of letters. My hands shook as I reached the ones I was looking for—two worn yellow envelopes with the addresses literally scribbled on the front.

Svetlana was already waiting at the door when I came clattering in, slapping the rest of the mail down on the kitchen table.

"You ought to be quiet," she scolded. "Your mother is already wound up and we don't want to twist her in knots."

I shrugged. "Does she need anything?"

Svetlana sighed. "She asked me to replenish her cigarette stash."

"Tsk, you stay home and rest," I said. "I'll go out and get it, and get some coffee on the way."

"Your mother will question why you've been out." Svetlana gave me her back, heading into the kitchen where she began to noisily wash the dishes still in the sink from the night before.

"And I'll tell her I had to do something for work," I countered.

"You lie so easily nowadays."

"You ought to do what you have to do."

"Who was that on the phone the day before yesterday?" Svetlana's tone was becoming increasingly accusatory.

I bristled. "None of your fucking business."

"Lea—"

I was out the door before she could finish, taking the steps two at a time.

There was no way in hell I would ever share anything about my...relationship? courtship? I wasn't entirely sure what it was between Manfred and I. He made me go completely tongue tied and watery kneed like no one else had or ever could. Still, I was certain that at the very most I thought of him as a close friend, nothing above that.

It was surprisingly cool outside for a July day, and I decided to take advantage of the ample time I had to kill to do some shopping for tonight's dinner. My mother, in addition to being a drunk, smoke spewing, cocaine snorting nuisance, was also an unfortunately picky eater.

Sticking my hand in my pocket to grip the wad of cash I had stuffed inside the night before, I headed straight for the market.

"Ach, Lea, you should've let me help you," Luise said to me as she took the other handful of sacks I was hauling. "You ought to know I have nothing to do these days."

"Why's that?" I asked. "Two children and a man aren't big enough of a chore for you?"

"Not when the man is away on a week long hunting furlough with his colleagues from work and my mother has taken the children to Hungary."

I arched an eyebrow. "Hungary?"

"Frische luft, that's why. All the pollution gets to be too much for the children sometimes. At least, that's what my mother says."

"So it's just you now?" I asked as we turned onto my street.

"Me, and my sister is coming from Munich to stay with me."

"I'm sure you'll lack for nothing to do then," I said a bit more dryly than I intended. "Do take care of yourself, Luise. I'll see you tomorrow."

I made sure to bang the door with exaggerated vigor upon entering, predictably bringing Svetlana running.

"Keep it down," she said frostily, eyeing the groceries critically. "Did you bring the cigars?"

"All in good time," I said, adjusting the collar of my dress in the mirror.

"There was another call on the telephone," Svetlana said from behind me. "It was that man you work for...Helmuth Something."

"Weber?" I cast a glance to the phone. "What did he want?"

"Beats me," Svetlana said, scowling. "I told him you'd give him a call back, and he left it at that."

"Spasibo." I headed for the door. "Remind me to get to that once I get home."

Svetlana and I spoke Russian together when my mother wasn't home—it was the reason our friendship was rooted so deep. Svetlana had come into our house not knowing a word of German; while my mother frequently lost her temper at her, I did my best to teach her, and at the same time tried to show interest in picking up some Russian. When my mother was around, however, we spoke German and tried our best to ignore my mother's disparaging remarks about Svetlana's thick Russian accent.

The chimes above the door to the coffee parlor jangled disconcertingly as I pushed the door open. Fraulein König, the 24/7 bartender, gave me an amicable wave as I approached the counter.

"You look like you have a stick up your ass," she said bluntly.

I snorted. "For once, you're right. Multiple ones, in fact."

She smirked and leaned over the counter, peering at my feet. "It's a wonder they still touch the ground. In any case, you might want to prepare yourself to accommodate one more. We've run out of coffee."

I groaned. "No."

"If you'd like ersatz coffee, I'd be more than happy to fill you up with that." She gestured to the singing coffee pot on the stove in the back. "There's more than plenty to go around."

"I was hoping for something stronger," I said, reaching into the pockets of my coat for change. "My mother's out of the hospital."

Her face fell. "You poor dear. All alone in that house with a Russian and a stooped drunk. What you need is a man to carry you out of all that. Such a pretty, intelligent girl as yourself should never be in such a predicament."

"A man?" I balked. "You'd think I should know better after what happened with my father."

"Siegfried was a dog." Fraulein König shook her head. "Not every man you will meet will be like him. And Klothilde was a fool to let his charms sweep her off her feet. Thankfully—" she tapped my forehead. "—you haven't inherited her stupidity, just her looks."

She gave me her back and headed to the back. I watched her fill a ceramic mug to the brim with steaming coffee and carry it back to where I still stood with a fistful of coins.

"You, my dear, have a brain. Use it."

I gave her what I was sure looked like a very sickly rendition of a smile and proceeded to shuffle my way back to the table all the way at the back of the cafe.

Dark coffee sloshed over the top of the mug as I set it down, scalding my fingers. I winced disapprovingly, using my coffee stained hand to tear open Manfred's letter, spreading the contents out on the small table.

You ought to come to Germany one day...

My stomach began to twist itself into knots as my eyes hungrily scanned the page.

Seeing as you travel a lot, you ought to have been to at least Berlin...

I smiled to myself. How the hell did he know I travel a lot?

So I forgot to mention this when I called you last time, but I ghostwrote a book...

Now that was something commendable. I made a mental note to thoroughly search for the book on my next trip to Germany.

To be honest, I feel you would be able to properly critique it, as you seem like someone who possesses good intellect. Only know that the government may have adjusted things here and there to give it a bit more—

"Who's that from?"

I gasped, slamming my hand down on my letter—or at least making a good attempt at it. My open palm came down on my coffee mug instead. The white ceramic mug teetered precariously before toppling over onto it's side with a loud thud, a wave of dark coffee engulfing Manfred's letter like a tsunami.

I watched the brown liquid merge with the black ink on the brittle paper, glueing it like a pressed leaf to the oak tabletop.

Fraulein König took in my stricken expression, looking as horrified as I did.

"I'll clean it up," she finally eked out, turning tail and darting into the back room to fetch a towel.

I stared at the mangled piece of paper atop the table and did my best not to cry.

"Lea, what a pleasure." The stooped owner of the tobacco store gave me a conspiratorial smile as I entered, reeking of coffee beans. "Are we shopping for the mother again?"

"Yes, and for someone else as well."

He nodded and went for the assortment of boxes stacked neatly on shelves built into the wall. "Two packs of Gauloises, correct?"

I nodded wordlessly, watching him place them on the counter before me and accept the crumpled bills I handed him.

"...three, four—oh,wait, I haven't given you these."

He handed me a glossy black cigarette case with a sly wink. "Consider it a gift. Good day, Lea."

I dipped into a grateful curtsy and hurried out of the shop. The sun was low in the sky, and I was quite a ways away from my house, but what was I going home for? I had nothing to look forward there, too.

I sat down on a nearby bench beneath a street lamp and pulled the box out of my pocket, as well as a small lighter.

The smoke tasted sweet in my mouth as I inhaled and exhaled, releasing whatever negative emotions were bubbling inside of me into the air along with the gray vapor.


End file.
